“Pity you can’t chuck Bernard and take on Etchingham and the five hundred.”

“I should never do that,” said Val in the rare tone of decision which in him was final.  “After all these years I could never leave Bernard in the lurch.  I owe him too much.”

“As if the boot weren’t on the other leg!” Rowsley muttered.  He was not mercenary—­none of Mr. Stafford’s children were:  he saw eye to eye with Val in Val’s calm preference of six to eight hundred a year:  but when Val carried his financial principles into the realm of sentiment Rowsley now and then lost his temper.  His brother smiled at him, amused by his irritation, unmoved by it:  other men’s opinions rarely had any weight with Val Stafford.

“Pax till it happens, at all events!  Honestly I don’t think Bernard means to object:  he’s been all smiles the last day or two—­Hyde’s coming has shaken him up and done him good—­”

“Oh!  Hyde!”

Val let fail his paper and looked curiously at Rowsley, whose tone was a challenge.  “What is it now?”

“Do you like this chap Hyde?”

“That depends on what you mean by liking him.  He’s not a bad specimen of his class.”

“What is his class?  Do you know anything of his people?”

“Of his family I know little except that he has Jew blood in him and is very well off,” Val could have told his brother where the money came from, but forbore out of consideration for Lawrence, who might not care to have his connection with the Hyde Galleries known in Chilmark.  “He came here because Lucian Selincourt asked him to see if he could do anything for Bernard.”

“I can’t see Hyde putting himself out of his way to oblige Mr. Selincourt.”

“If you ask me, Rose, I should say he had only just got back to England and was at a loose end.  But there was a dash of good nature in it:  he’s genuinely fond of Mrs. Clowes.”

“So I gathered,” said Rowsley.  His tone was pregnant.  Val sat silent for a moment.

“What rubbish!  He hasn’t seen her for eight or ten years.”

“Since her marriage.”  Val shrugged his shoulders.  “Sorry, Val, but I cannot see Hyde staying on at Wanhope out of cousinly affection for Bernard Clowes.  It must be a beastly uncomfortable house to stay in.  Nicely run and all that, and they do you very well, but Bernard is distinctly an acquired taste.  Oh, my dear chap!” as Val’s silence stiffened, “no one suggests that Laura’s ever looked at the fellow!  But facts are facts, and Hyde is—­ Hyde.  I’m not a bit surprised to hear he has Jew blood in him,” Rowsley continued, warming to the discussion:  he was a much keener judge of character that the tolerant and easy-going Val.  “That accounts for the arty strain in him.  Yvonne says he’s a thorough musician, and Jack told me Lord Grantchester took to him because he knew such a lot about pictures.  Well, so he ought!  He’s a Londoner.  What does he know of the country?  Only what you pick up at a big country-house party or a big shoot!  He’s not the sort of chap to stay on at Wanhope for the pleasure of cheering up across-grained br—­a fellow like Bernard.  Yes, he’s talking of staying on indefinitely:  is going to send to town for one of his confounded cars. . . .  And what other woman is there in Chilmark that he’d walk across the road to look at?”